


Winter Winds and Spring Dreams

by SelkieWife



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Arya is mentioned a lot, But there is no past "mad queen", Canon Divergent, Canon Divergent future fic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, POV Sansa Stark, Past Abuse, Past Character Death- Daenerys Targaryen, Past Character Death- Jeyne Westerling, Past Character Death- Jon Snow, Past Child Abuse, Past Child Death, Past Child Murder, Past Torture, Sansa Stark-centric, Sansa and Theon Are Married, Season 8 divergent, Shame, Survivor Guilt, Theon Greyjoy-centric, Theonsa-Centric, parental angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieWife/pseuds/SelkieWife
Summary: In the aftermath of a Divergent Season 8, Sansa and Theon survived the many battles against the Army of the Dead and are now living in Winterfell as Queen in the North and Prince Consort/ Ambassador to the Iron Islands. When Robb and Jeyne Westerling's son suddenly comes into their lives, his presence, though wonderful, brings up old wounds, guilt, and insecurities.Written for the Theonsa Challenge for the most excellent prompt: "Accidental Baby Aquisition."
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54
Collections: Theonsa Challenge 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is more heavily show verse in it's characterizations and events but there are some book elements as well. It is divergent of Season 8 so some things will remain the same, but some things will be different- like the amount of battles against the Army of the Dead (there were many in this AU as opposed to just one night in Winterfell.) In this AU, both Daenerys and Jon died as heroes fighting the Army of the Dead. If that upsets you, please don't read. However, it is just mentioned in passing. Also Daenerys definitely did NOT "go mad queen" in this AU.

“Relax your bow arm,” Theon said gently as he helped her adjust her stance. She breathed out, trying to focus only on the target as she loosed her arrow. It flew through the air, careening left of where she intended it to land.

“Better,” Theon said, trying to control his chuckle.

“I’m hopeless and you know it,” Sansa said smiling, though feeling a bit defeated. 

“No, not at all, you almost had the target. You’ve made more progress than Arya did on her first lesson.”

“I’m also more than twice the age she was when she started,” Sansa replied, suddenly almost tearing up at the thought of the messy haired, muddy little ten year old trying to pull back a bow that was much too large for her. Those memories stand beside the image of her at eighteen, still with the messy hair, but triumphantly leading Nymeria and her wolf pack against the army of the dead. The last image Sansa had of her was also the saddest, for it was the image of her at the stern of the ship, off to see what is West of Westeros…

The tear was down her cheek before she could stop it. Theon brushed it away with a gloved hand and smiled encouragingly. 

“She would be proud of you,” he said.

“What would mother have said if she had known that Arya got so good at the bow because a certain Ironborn ward was secretly teaching her,” Sansa laughed, wanting to change the subject to happier things.

Theon leaned in closer to Sansa, a rakish grin forming on his lips, “What would she say now? If she knew that the same Ironborn was teaching the Queen in the North to be a master archeress.”

She smiled at him almost shyly. Moments like these, he still resembled the young man he had been before the wars and years of torture and grief had ravaged them both. She pressed her lips to his and smiled. 

“I think she would approve both of my archery instructor _and_ my husband.” 

Theon’s sea green eyes reflected his customary look of both gratitude and unworthiness whenever she professed her love and admiration for him. But he did not contradict her, he knew better than that by now. Instead he massaged her right shoulder which was getting sore from drawing back the bow again and again.

It was hard to imagine that the Theon who stood by her side today could ever have been either the mean spirited and arrogant boy of their youth, or the shrinking, trembling Reek. The man who now stood before her was gentle, brave, and strong. Though his hands still cramped up and some days he couldn’t make it out of bed without his cane, he was doing much better than he had been. He had put on weight and had grown muscular again. He kept his hair on the longer side, which pleased his wife who liked to run her fingers playfully through his curls. Though his eyes still held multitudes of anguished memories, they were also capable of reflecting much happiness and peace, especially when they were looking upon her.

“If you please, your grace,” Sansa turned around to see Jeyne Poole, the Stewardess of Winterfell, walking swiftly towards them. Jeyne, Sansa’s childhood friend, now had her father’s old position after being found in one of Little Finger’s brothels. Sansa’s heart had swelled to see her old friend grow in confidence from a beaten broken young girl into the competent woman who now ran Winterfell, assuredly seeing them through the often harrowing winter. Yet now, she seemed shaken and her former youthful uncertainty was showing itself, both in the nervous flutter of her hands and the high pitch of her voice.

“Whatever is wrong, Jeyne?” Sansa, asked, fear momentarily seizing her as she handed her bow to Theon to unstring. 

“It’s… well,” her gaze fell on the others in the practice yard before darting in the direction of the Great Hall, “Ser Davos is here… I think you should wait until you hear from him yourself.” 

Jeyne had cleared the Great Hall to ensure it was a private audience between Ser Davos, Sansa and Theon. “Ser Davos,” Sansa said amiably as she entered, walking past the Stark throne to greet him warmly. However, the shock of curly auburn hair poking through the bundle he held in his arms made her halt in her tracks. As she stared, something extraordinary happened. A little heart shaped face turn around an look at her from within the folds of the blanket. He looked as though he had seen little more than three name days and his face was the image of Robb’s. She dimly she heard Davos’ words as if from far away. Something about how they had heard whispers of a possible heir to the North for a few years now but it wasn’t until after Bran had been made King that they were able to fully investigate the matter. As she came closer to the child, Davos began to inform her about how the baby’s mother, Jeyne Westerling, had died of child bed fever shortly after giving birth and naming him after his father, Robb Stark, King in the North. Little Robb had been sheltered in secret with a farmer and his wife in Riverrun to protect him from any assassination attempts. 

As Ser Davos spun the wondrous tale, all Sansa could see through her tears was Little Robb’s huge eyes peaking up her. They were not blue, as her brother’s eyes had been. His eyes must come from his mother, for they were big and brown and filled with such fear that Sansa felt her heart grow painfully full. She came forward and gently touched the child’s hand. “I’m your Aunt Sansa. Welcome home little wolf.” She held her arms out and the child curled into them as if it were the most natural thing in the world, nuzzling his curly head against her shoulder. The tears flowed freely then as Davos continued speaking.

“My apologies, Queen Sansa, I can see that this is a surprise. Your brother- er- I mean the King, did say that he was going to send you an official raven ahead of us so that you would be prepared.” 

Bran had sent her a rather cryptic letter last moon… “Now that you mention that I do recall him saying something, Ser Davos,” she said trying to remember the exact wording. Something about _a new pack to bring forth the dreams of spring…_ She hadn’t given it much thought at the time. “The King’s messages are not always the most easy to decipher,” she explained as she held Robb's boy so close that she could feel his little heart beating against hers, like the wings of a baby bird. She turned around, smiling through her tears, to share in this impossible joy with Theon, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Sansa sent Jeyne to find Theon, worrying over his sudden disappearance. But she was soon swept up by the myriad of tasks related to getting young Robb settled in the castle and making all the necessary preparations. She decided to put him in Rickon’s old room. It was the closest to Theon and her own chambers and also, the most appropriate for a younger child. Though it gave her heart a pang to remember just how little Rickon was when they all left for King's Landing. 

After his room was chosen, she had Maester Wolken see the poor child as he had apparently caught a bad cold from the long journey. Then there was the legal considerations that would have to wait until another day to fully finalize. Though she comforted herself with the realization that naming him her official heir should only be a formality under the circumstances, with Jon deceased- dying a hero in The Battle for the Dawn in King’s Landing- and Arya traveling world, with no intention or interest in either ruling or providing the North with an heir. 

Sansa sometimes wondered if Arya left because she was too heartbroken over Jon to stay at home without him. Arya and Jon had always had such a connection. In fact, when the army of the dead had pushed their forces all the way to Kings Landing, it had been Jon she was trying to save when she ended up saving the entire world instead. The Night King had disarmed Jon of Long Claw and sank it into his heart. Sansa would never know what it cost Arya to have to pull the great sword out of her brother’s chest and use it to stab the Night King through, shattering the night and her own heart at once. 

Part of her completely understood why she would not want to return home without Jon. Yet part of her wondered if it was because she was not enough of a home for her sister. And that hurt the most as she tortured herself going over all the times she might have been kinder or more understanding to Arya when they were growing up. _You can’t walk forward if you are looking back_ , she told herself as she stroked young Robb’s hair and sang "The Wolf Kings." It was a ballad that had been written in honor of Robb and Jon. A pretty lilting tune that told a tale of how they had escaped death by sipping into the skin of their wolves. _If only,_ Sansa thought as she sang. She was in the middle of the second verse when Jeyne came in and whispered, “Lord Greyjoy is in the Kennels.” Sansa’s voice caught but she merely nodded and calmly slipped out of the room, leaving Jeyne to sit with Robb. 

As soon as she was outside the door, her poise crumbled and she took a moment to slow her shuddering breath before putting her “armour” back on to continue down the hallway. She had her face and breath almost completely under control by the time she had made her way to the kennels, though she was still lashing herself on the inside. Why had she not made sure that Theon was alright? How could she have been so dismissive of him during such an important moment? Yet at the same time, he had left her to deal with everything alone today. An unfair frustration rose inside her as she thought how much Theon allowed himself to miss due to his unrelenting guilt. Robb's son finding his way to them was supposed to be a _good_ thing right?

As she entered the kennels, she shivered. It was the place Theon was wont to go when shame or fearful memories overwhelmed him. She was happy that he was not actually inside one of the cages, just peering in. He was at the same doorway where she had stood when she first met Reek. 

“I’m here,” she said, as much to alert him of her presence as to offer comfort. 

He bowed his head and his gloved hand gripped the bars of the door. When he finally spoke his voice was broken and anguished. 

“He looks just like him,” he said.

“Yes,” Sansa answered, the tears already pooling in her eyes. 

“Who’s with him now?” He asked, sounding worried.

“Jeyne,” Sansa answered.

“He will need a guard placed outside the door…” 

“Do you really think that is necessary?” 

“I will do it,” he answered, resolute.

Sansa nodded. She knew what it was to see danger lurking around every corner, danger in the eyes of every friend or ally. Even now, when their enemies were dead and gone, Ramsay and the Boltons, the Lannisters, even the Dragon Queen. Sansa had never trusted her, yet she proved herself noble in the end, sacrificing herself in the Battle for Winterfell, even bringing down her own “child” so that Winterfell may be safe from the Night King’s dragon. Yet there were still those who feared her to this day. In spite of her heroism in the battle, the stories persisted of her resurrection as the Night Queen. The people believed she was biding her time deep in the north, waiting for the day she could rise again to destroy the world with ice as people had once feared she would do with fire. It seemed that it was a rare woman who could be considered a hero in Westeros. Perhaps Arya had been right to leave after all… 

Turning her thoughts back to the matter at hand, she continued, “He was a bit ill because of the journey… Maester Wolkan has seen him.” 

Theon merely nodded.

She wanted to be _held_. She wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her how happy he was that Robb’s son had found his way to them. She wanted him to reassure her that they would raise him as their own…that he would do his best to be a good father to him. This was a _good_ thing wasn’t it?

“You haven’t even been to see him,” she ventured.

This statement turned him around. He looked at her, confusion etched into his features.

“I- I didn’t think you’d want me to…” he said at a loss. “Considering everything… I- I didn’t think you’d want me to be around him."

For a moment all she could do was look at him. She stood there with her mouth gaping in shock at just how ingrained the sense of unworthiness was with Theon. Just how far he was, even now, from being capable of accepting her love and belief in him.

“What?” She finally said, sharper than she had intended. He dropped his eyes but she closed the distance between them and found his gaze. 

“You are Theon Greyjoy, hero of the Battle for the Dawn, and my _husband_ ,” her voice broke on the last word. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want you near him? I _need_ you Theon. I need you to be his father.”

He flinched at that word and her heart fell like a stone. Yet she didn’t understand, not completely. He had _mourned_ the fact that he couldn’t give her children. It was one of the reasons that he had protested their union. This was an unhoped for miracle. They could raise Robb’s child as their own. She had a bit of her family back that she thought she had lost forever. Finally the emotions rose up inside her and she gave voice to the question she had been asking herself all day:

“Isn’t this supposed to be a _good_ thing?” 

As much as she attempted to keep her voice steady, it suddenly broke and she covered her face so that he wouldn’t see the tears fall. She felt his arms about her in an instant and sank into the warmth and comfort he provided her.

“I’m so sorry Sansa,” he breathed against her hair. “I’m so sorry. Of course this is a good thing. Of course,” he said, pulling her tighter into his embrace. “Let’s go check on him,” he said as they walked back toward the castle. 

That night, Theon stayed posted outside Robb’s door until dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

Over next few days, Theon continued guarding Robb’s door at night and finding excuses to make himself scarce during the day, in spite of Sansa’s pleading to get to know the small lad, who was quietly coming out of his shell. It probably would have continued on in this way, had Robb’s cold not developed into a more serious illness. As his fever began to rise, neither Sansa or Theon would leave his side.

At first they thought it was simple childhood fever, but on the second day the chills began and little Robb cried pitifully, complaining of being “so cold,” though his skin was burning hot to the touch. Maester Wolkan began to take precautions against winter fever. This is when Sansa truly saw how much Theon cared about the boy as he sat by his side constantly as the boy’s temperature rose, applying cold compresses, and helping her get him into cool baths with lumps of snow in the basin to get his fever down. He would carry him over to the open window and let him feel the cool air on his skin while singing broken catches of Ironborn songs. They were sailor tunes that told of merlings and deep ones in their beautiful castles beneath the waves. As his voice lingered on the last note of one of these songs, Sansa noticed that Robb had closed his eyes and was resting his head contentedly against Theon’s shoulder. 

“He rests easier when you are here,” she said.

“Hopefully he can get some sleep for a while,” he answered, bringing Robb over to the bed and placing him in it. Theon sat heavily in the chair by the bed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, clasping his hands against his forehead, almost in supplication. For a moment Sansa was afraid to talk for fear she may be interrupting a prayer. But then he fixed his eyes on her. 

“What are you making?” He asked.

“It’s a prayer wheel to The Seven. I saw my mother making one for Bran when he fell from the tower… you are supposed to make them when you feel your child is in danger.”

“The Ironborn have something similar,” Theon answered suddenly. “My mother made one for me when I was a babe, Yara told me.” 

Asha Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands. Theon still referred to her by the playful nickname their mother gave her as a child that meant “water lady.” Sansa was surprised at Theon’s sudden willingness to talk, especially about his family.

“What is the Ironborn custom?” She asked, deciding it was best to keep him talking. 

“It is a weaving that resembles fishing nets. It is made by mothers for sickly children… I was a horrible baby- shocking I know. I had the wailing sickness. Crying all hours of the night and couldn’t be comforted. My father wanted pitch me into the sea as a sacrifice for the Drowned God… I _think_ he was japing. My mother said that if he tried it, it would be his corpse at the bottom of the ocean not mine. She was a bold woman.”

Sansa stopped sewing, sickened by the talk of Balon Greyjoy. “I think I would have liked your mother.”

“You would have,” he agreed. “And she would have liked you.”

“Do you have to be a mother in order to make the prayer net?”

“I don’t know… I think so.”

“It’s only…” she paused for a moment to let the fear pass. “You have to be a mother to make the prayer wheel for The Seven.” She paused again trying to control her voice. “I’m not Robb’s true mother… and if he… dies… after coming so far to find us against all odds…” 

Theon sighed and his eyes filled with tears. “Sansa, I am so sorry.”

“Why? This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” He looked down at Robb’s little hand. 

She studied him carefully. The intense guilt and remorse was apparent on his face. It was burning him from the inside, as searing as Robb’s fever. 

“You really believe this is your fault, don’t you? That Robb took ill because… because of the things you did?”

Theon looked at her miserably. “The gods are not finished with me,” he said. His voice was very small.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding him? You were afraid you would bring bad luck to him?”

“Not entirely… but I did feel like if I loved him too much or cared for him too well… he would be taken from me as punishment,” he finished lowly. “And I still have enemies. Rightly so I suppose. I… killed those boys. I had this irrational thought that maybe the farmer and his wife would wish harm on Robb for the children I- I took from them. It wouldn’t happen,” he looked up suddenly as if trying to reassure her. “The farmer and his wife were killed as well- not by my hand- but still, I feared some kind of restitution. And then when the sickness began, I thought perhaps this was the way the gods would have their justice. Taking yet another family member from you and making it my fault.”

There was a long silence where Sansa digested what he said and thought about how she would choose her words. Finally, after looking at him long and hard she said:

“And here I thought your arrogance had truly left you…”

He looked at her. “What?” He asked.

“Well, the fact that you honestly believe that the gods would take a little child who has been on the run for the entire three years of his life, who also happens to be the heir to the north, just to punish _you_? That is some healthy arrogance, would you not agree?” 

He looked at her for a long moment and then they both burst out laughing. It started small at first and then turned into deep shuddering laughs that resembled sobs, aided in their strength by lack of sleep and excessive tension. When they finally stilled Theon sat looking at Sansa for a moment before he spoke, his eyes shining with awe and admiration.

“You don’t need to worry, by the way. You _are_ his mother, Sansa. He is so lucky to have a mother like you.”

“And so lucky to have you as a father.” She responded in kind, trying to ignore how he immediately dropped his eyes as a dark look passed over his face.

Exhaustion finally overtook Theon and he mercifully fell asleep in his chair, with his head on the bed and his hand still holding little Robb’s. Sansa continued to form the prayer wheel into the night, forming the familiar patterns of the Maiden, Mother, Crone, Father, Warrior, Smith, Stranger…. She shivered. She did not truly believe as her mother had. She hadn’t since she had seen her father beheaded in front of her and all her belief of goodness and honor turned to dust beneath her feet. But Lady Catelyn had always been so strong in her faith. She wondered if she remained that way until the end. Did she still reach out to The Mother when she watched her oldest son fall dead in front of her? When she felt the knife against her own throat?

Yet as Sansa tied and weaved, her lips began forming the familiar lyrics to "Gentle Mother, Font of Mercy," the hymn she had sung for the women and children of King’s Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. She had not sung it while crouched in the crypts with her heart in her throat during the Battle for Winterfell. Yet, the refrain had echoed in her mind as she used the small dagger of dragon glass Arya had given her to shatter the dead that had risen in the crypts. And then later, when Theon had fought his way through the crypts with Bran to lead the survivors through the secret tunnels. She heard the lyrics clearly in her mind to the tune of her pounding heart beating like a war drum as they flew through the tunnels toward the White Knife where Theon’s ship was still docked and ready to take them to safety. 

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy  
Save our sons from war, we pray  
Stay the swords and stay the arrows  
Let them know a better day_

She tied the last thread of the prayer circle as she finished the last refrain and laid it gently at Robb’s feet. She went over to the window and watched the big drifts of snow that had shrouded all of Winterfell in a kind of icy fairyland. Winter could be so beautiful. So beautiful and so, so cruel. She didn’t know how long she stood at the window, but when she turned around, Theon was up and anxiously feeling Robb’s forehead and listening against his chest. 

“Something has changed… I’ll get the maester,” he mumbled, running clumsily out of the room in his haste. Sansa rushed over to the bed and took Robb’s little hand in hers. The flush of fever was gone from his skin and the little face looked peaceful and contented, free from pain. Anxiously, she bent her head to listen at his lips and the quiet, steady breaths she heard was the sweetest sound in all the world. 

Maester Wolkan hurried in the room and performed the same ritual that Sansa had just done. He looked up at Sansa and smiled, “The worst is over, your Grace. He survived the third day of the illness which means he will recover. His fever has broken, his skin is damp and he is breathing easy.”

As Maester Wolkan gave them instructions for what to do for the lad when he woke, Sansa and Theon clasped onto each other in a tearful embrace of pure relief and joy.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa reached out for Theon’s hand in the darkness but was met with only furs. She shivered and drew the blankets around her in the empty bed. There had been a soft whisper of spring in the air earlier in the day. Little Robb had even run around after Theon in the practice yard without his cloak until Sansa insisted he put it back on. But now, the night winds were crashing against the stone walls of the castle, as if intent on reclaiming the north back into the icy jaws of winter. As the wind roared outside, Sansa drew her dressing gown around her and padded softly across the hall to Robb’s chambers. 

After Robb recovered, Sansa hoped things would return to normal, but they didn’t. She chided herself for finding any complaint at all with their situation. After all, she was ruling over a free North, little Robb had found his way back to them, and she and Theon were now parents. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel that in spite of all of these blessings, it was like the castle of Winterfell had been hit by a potent dose of Wild Fire and she spent her days rummaging around the ruins of their lives trying to put things back to rights. Theon remained more distant from her than ever. And now, even after Maester Wolkan had assured them that baby Robb was out of harm's way, Sansa awoke nightly to a cold and empty bed. Well. Enough. 

As she entered the room, she saw little Robb, sleeping peacefully as could be in his bed and Theon, looking exhausted, but awake in the chair next to him. He flinched ever so slightly as she entered, but then a small smile graced his lips as he saw her. Sansa felt her chest tighten as she took him in. It was almost as if all the progress that he had made over the many months they had spent together as a married couple were lost. Stress lines were etched across his pale face and he looked almost gaunt, as if he hadn’t been eating. Sansa remembered suddenly that he _had_ been skipping meals, saying that he wasn’t hungry. 

As she sat down beside him, he said, “Do you see how he sleeps with his hand raised above his head like that? Robb use to do that too.”

Sansa smiled down at her son. They lived in a world where dragons were hatched from stone, human beings resurrected, and the army of the dead allegedly destroyed. Yet, the fact that Robb's son had survived and was here at Winterfell seemed the most unbelievable occurrence of all.

“You know, it is usually the _mother_ who is up all hours of the night worrying over her little ones. Even father didn’t worry over us the way you do…” she began, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “You are a _good_ father, you know.” 

He sighed so heavily it almost sounded like a sob. 

“You are,” she insisted. “But you need sleep, Theon.” She suddenly remembered what he had said to her when Robb was still struggling with the fever. “Nothing will happen to Robb if you are with me in our bed. He is safe here.”

“It’s not just that…” he said, so low she almost didn’t hear him.

“What is it then?” She asked.

“It should be Robb here with him.” His voice was so raw. “He would be a good father. He would know how.”

“And you don’t?” 

Theon shrugged. “I haven’t had any experience with good fathers.”

Sansa was taken aback for a moment. A horrible defensiveness rose in her chest. “What about _my_ father?” She asked sharply.

He sighed again. One of those deep pained sighs and it irritated her beyond reason, though she knew it wasn’t fair. 

“I am no longer a naive girl. I know that you were a hostage, not a ward. And I know better than anyone what that feels like,” she said, the bitterness in her voice after all these years surprising her. “But, my father treated you as one of his own,” she said. 

“No he didn’t Sansa.” His voice was soft. Not a trace of reproach or bitterness in it. Yet it felt as though he had struck her. She didn’t speak for a moment and to her surprise, he continued. “He always kept his distance from me. He was careful not to get too close. Not to ever play the father. He knew that one day might have to slice off my head if Balon rebelled. I think he reasoned it would be easier for both of us if we were not close when that day came.”

Bile rose in her throat. She tried to push back the memory of the helpless desperation she felt when her clothes were stripped from her and she was beaten in the throne room every time her brother won a victory. She had paid for her own family’s rebellion with her flesh. She had bled for northern independence. She wanted to believe her situation was different from Theon’s. But... 

“He made you carry his sword.”

Theon nodded and her eyes filled. It seemed unimaginably cruel of her father. 

“After the first execution, as soon as I could get away I threw up. I was so scared. I spent a lot of time thinking of what it would feel like- the blade against the back of my neck. Would I feel my head hit the ground before I died?” He laughed suddenly. “That was before I learned to laugh about it. And before I learned what a mercy such an instant death could be. I’ve never really talked to anyone about this...”

Sansa gripped his hand in hers. “Theon I never knew, you never said. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t blame your father,” he assured her. “What else was he to do? If it came to that, he had you all to protect. And he had already risked his family’s safety for another boy that King Robert would have wanted killed.”

Sansa nodded. “Jon.” She wondered what kind of King he would have been, had he not died in the Battle for the Dawn. At least he took the Night King down with him in the end… he and Arya. In the end, he was the King they needed.

And Theon too, had become the hero that was needed in so many ways. He could now become the father that little Robb needed. She was sure of it. She clasped his hand tighter and held it to her heart. She knew it would be hard. But they could learn together. 

“You can be the father you never had,” she offered. “He already looks to you as his father, ever since the fever. He hardly ever leaves your side.”

A genuine smile graced Theon's lips before it faded and he bowed his head.

“He will know everything one day,” he said. “What I am. What I did… What I did to his father. What I did to those two boys. Jack and Billy. I know their names now- Bran told me. Robb will know me for a child killer.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Sansa assured him. 

“He does. He will hear it from someone eventually. I’d rather he hear it from me…” 

“We will tell him together,” she promised. “You won’t have to do it alone. When he’s old enough, he can hear the full story. How complicated everything truly was.”

He raised his blood shot eyes to her. “I keep imagining how he’ll take it. How his face will turn from shock to disgust…” 

“Is that the other reason you avoided him in the beginning. Because you feared him learning these things when he was older?”

Theon could only nod his head.

“Do you realize that is exactly what my father did with you? Avoided knowing you- avoided becoming too close so he wouldn’t have to disappoint you later if the worst happened.”

Theon considered it for a moment watching her intently. “I suppose,” he said after awhile, “we are all destined to become our parents.” 

“I don’t believe that. I think we are challenged to become better than our parents- especially if our own childhood was a nightmare. Please Theon,” she swallowed back her tears. “Please don’t let your guilt cause you to miss the opportunity to give Robb the kind of father you _should_ have had.”

He pulled her into a hug and she closed her eyes remembering the first embrace after they escaped. She had been too cold and traumatized to hug him back at the time. But now, she returned the embrace, holding him close and kissing his hair.

“I won’t. I’m so sorry I’ve left you alone during this,” he said as he clung to her. She smiled and embraced him all the harder. 

“Come back to bed then, husband.” 

He moaned gently against her neck and she kissed him again. Then, with a last kiss from both of them on little Robb’s forehead and more assurances from Sansa that he would be quite safe, they retired to their own bed. 

Theon must have been as exhausted as she was, for he seemed to fall asleep as soon as he slid into bed and drew her near him. She followed soon after but awoke later in the night to see that little Robb had squirmed his way into their bed, lying in between them. Robb lay quite contentedly on top of Theon, his little hand covering one of the more vicious scars on Theon’s chest where his night shirt had come undone. 

As the moonlight from the window fell on the sleeping faces of her two sweet boys, she realized they were both smiling. Sansa watched the faces of her new little family, her new pack, and she dreamed. She dreamed of Robb growing up here at Winterfell as joyful and happy as his father had been. She dreamed of Theon growing more confident as a father and performing his duties with assurance and joy instead of guilt and shame. She dreamed that they may take in other children, orphans from the bite of winter and war to become sisters and brothers to Robb. Perhaps the children would look like the brothers she had lost, Jon and Rickon… perhaps there would even be a little girl that looked like Arya. As the winter winds blew strong and cold outside, Sansa Stark dreamed of Spring.


End file.
